CHAPTER IX

 

WHEN THE DOOR closed behind Brand, Wayne Lutz launched his big frame from the chair and stood with feet braced apart, hands cocked on his hips, glaring around the room at the others with malice he did not bother to dampen. “Michaela, let’s have some of that coffee.”

The girl had sat down by her father; all she said was, in a deadened tone, “Get it yourself.”

Lutz gave her an angry glance and went to the coffeepot, which she had left on a flat stone by the fire. He poured a tin cup full of black steaming liquid and stood up drinking, looking over the rim of the cup at the Mexican and at Mitch Andrews.

He said, “The gambler’s got something. I don’t want to sleep in the same building with a killer. Who’s got that buffalo rifle?”

His answer came from the Mexican. Elias maintained his sprawled easy posture and continued to pick his teeth, so that some of his words came out slurred. “That’s a poor question for you to ask, amigo.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. One, if there is a killer and he did not break down confessing to Brand, why should he admit anything to you? And two, suppose you are the killer yourself?”

“Hogwash.”

“Is it?” Elias made an eloquent shrug.

Lutz swung his ponderous attention toward Mitch Andrews, who stood with both arms leaning against the bar, moodily regarding the bottle. Lutz said, “You … nester. You’re the one. You knew I’d gone down to Arrowhead and talked to the sheriff about those six steers your brother shot over by Tie Creek. Maybe the sheriff sent the deputy and you caught up with him on the trail.”

“You’re crazy,” the homesteader muttered. “Anything at all happens, and you big boys try and pin it on us little fellows. In your book we’re all fair game for the big outfits.”

“Funny,” Lutz said, “I always figured it was the other way around. You don’t fool me, Andrews. You and your brother have both got a rabbit’s brood of kids to feed by your stealing. You knew your brother shot those steers, and you knew he couldn’t afford to go to jail for it, or his family would starve. So one of you killed the deputy to keep from getting thrown in jail.” The big man spread his hands. “I leave the rest to you boys.”

“You’re crazy,” Andrews said again. He picked up the bottle, staring at it gloomily, and lifted it to drink.

Lutz went across the room with long booming strides and batted the bottle out of Andrews’ hand. It wheeled across the bar and shattered on the floor, spreading a dark stain across the threadbare piece of carpet. A gust of the storm smashed against the outside wall; the fire flickered. Andrews looked up through angry red eyes.

“Don’t call me a crazy man,” Lutz said.

“Lutz, I’m in no mood to fool with you. I’m sick of your cowhands busting my fences, riding down all our crops. I’m sick of watching our women sorrow and our kids go hungry after you big sons of bitches run roughshod over our places. Now get away from me before I bust something over your fool head.”

“Watch that,” Lutz said threateningly.

The Mexican’s voice broke in softly between them. “Let’s have a fight, eh, amigos? It’s going to be a long blow, I think. A man needs a little—entertainment.”

The norther pounded at the shuttered windows and reached a long arm down the chimney; the big fire jumped and danced. By the fireplace, the old man sat with drowsy lids, tapping his wooden limb on the floor. The girl had moved to stand in front of the blaze, staring wide-eyed into it, ignoring the byplay between the two men.

Young McCasford came along and swept the broken glass against the base of the bar with his boot. “Wouldn’t want to step on that in the dark,” he murmured, and went back to his chair, expertly spinning up a cigarette with his one hand and his teeth.

When he had it constructed, he got up again and walked to the stove, opened it and poked a stick inside. The fire ignited the tip and he used it to light the smoke, then tossed the stick inside and closed the iron door, and once more sat down.

All the while, Andrews and Lutz continued to glare balefully at each other. Presently Lutz uttered a low sound and turned heavily to return to his seat. “One thing’s sure,” he said. “I lose one more cow, I’m going to burn you out, nester. You and all your friends along the creek.”

“You do,” Andrews said, “and you’ll be starting yourself a range war. Keep that in mind when you get ready to light your torches. I never stole a pound of your beef.”

“Sure,” Lutz said. Sarcasm was lost in the weight of his rumble. “My cows have all got a blight, while yours drop four calves apiece.”

“Gentlemen,” Elias chided them. The toothpick protruded at a jaunty angle from his mouth corner. “You won’t have to worry so much about losing stock, Señor Lutz. Not after this storm. Half your herd will be wind-drifted or froze to death, I think.”

Lutz stared silently at him, hating him for the reminder. Elias’ young one-armed partner puffed complacently on the brown-paper cigarette, watching everything with quick-eyed interest and a sour kind of humor.

Elias said conversationally, “How about you, old man? You look like a mountain man to me-—maybe you’re the fellow with the buffalo rifle, eh? Maybe the deputy had something on you, viejo.”

The old man did not seem to hear him; it was the girl whose eyes snapped angrily toward Elias. But the old man, whose jaws steadily chewed an imaginary cud of tobacco, presently looked up and said in a half-cracked voice, “Think whatever you want. It don’t hurt me none.”

“Maybe it was Lutz,” said Mitch Andrews. He had his fist wrapped sturdily around a new bottle he had taken off the shelf. He had not yet opened it; it stood before him as a challenge, as if he were fighting the temptation to uncork it. He said, with a sour downturn of his glance toward the bottle, “Dusted any varmints lately, Lutz? Somebody took a shot at my brother a few days back.”

“You’d have a tough time proving that, sodbuster. I don’t fight from ambush.”

“Well, now,” Andrew said softly, “that’s real reassuring.” He wrapped both hands around the bottle, leaning forward behind the bar on his elbows. Lamplight glistened on his bald spot. “Sure,” he said. “You had as much cause as anybody to shoot that deputy, Lutz.”

“Amigos.” Elias said somnolently, “this is getting nobody noplace. After the storm blows over, you can all arrest each other and haul each other down to the calaboso. Meantime let’s try and keep the peace, eh?”

“Somehow,” Lutz said to him, “you don’t look much like a peacemaker to me.”

The toothpick moved and Elias grinned. He made no other answer. When he turned the knife in his hand, light rippled wickedly along the polished blade.